User blog comment:Bartholomew Bilberry Bowstring/The First of Many/@comment-26538658-20160425120739/@comment-26024035-20160428210602

Hearing the shocked sound of warning from the stoat behind him, Skirvil turned, grabbing for his sheathed machete in surprise. Before he could draw it, however, he was floored on the ground, gagging and choking and trying desperately to remove the battle-axe blade from his neck. "Ccc-gaaaw!" His paws slid uselessly off the blade, slick with the ferret's own blood as the axe edge bit into his palms. "Wot th' in bones are you doin '!?" A thin brownrat demanded, raising his spear. The stoat drew a dirk. "Gerraway, yer killin' one of our own!"